


when you don't know who you are, i will find you so easily

by inconocible



Series: there is a light that shines special for you and me [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Eban Hawk Family, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's Loving Carth Onasi Hours, Memory Loss, Missing Scene, Panic Attacks, Post-Leviathan (Star Wars), Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Unbetaed and written in 1 sitting AS ONE DOES, the gang's all here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:41:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27480628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inconocible/pseuds/inconocible
Summary: “I don’t think I need all the memories of my old life to know some things about myself,” Téa continues, trying to press her point upon him. “Maybe Juhani was right. Maybe -- maybe I do already know who I am, in a way. And -- and maybe you already know who I am, too.”Carth eyes her thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he concedes.
Relationships: Carth Onasi/Female Revan, Female Revan & Bastila Shan, Female Revan & Juhani, Female Revan & Mission Vao
Series: there is a light that shines special for you and me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2011411
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	when you don't know who you are, i will find you so easily

**Author's Note:**

> when all the fears you hide  
> are all you can believe  
> oh i'll be standing by your side  
> just have a little [faith in me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KA07g2lvgbo)

“So, I guess that's it, then,” Carth says with a resigned sigh. “We keep going. We've still got one more Star Map to uncover if we're going to find that Star Forge and save Bastila, so let's do it before it's too late.”

Everyone relaxes, starts to move around the hold. “On to Tatooine, I guess,” Carth adds, but he doesn’t head toward the cockpit yet -- he’s still gripping his side with one hand, and leaning heavily against the edge of the holotable with his other.

They had been on their way from Korriban, after the roller coaster of finding both the Star Map and Dustil, for a quick stop-over on Tatooine to let Canderous deal with his old colleague, Jagi, before eventually heading to Kashyyyk, when they had been intercepted by the _Leviathan_.

“You okay, Carth?” Mission asks, watching him.

“Yeah,” Carth grits out. He blows out a heavy breath. “I’m fine, just a little shaken up from the fight.” 

Téa eyes him. “Are you sure, Carth?” she asks. “We both got pretty beat up, back there, before Juhani sprung us free.”

“I’m fine,” Carth says, more annoyed. “I’m just --” and he tries to straighten up, but grabs at his ribs again, and shifts his weight, lifting his left foot gingerly off the floor. “Damn it,” he breathes, wincing.

“You don’t look fine,” Canderous blithely observes.

“Yeah,” Mission agrees. Carth glares at them. “You don’t look your best either, Téa,” Mission adds.

Canderous considers them both. “Frankly, you both look like absolute bantha shit,” he pronounces. 

“I am not surprised,” Juhani says quietly. “Considering the torture chamber in which I found you.” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Carth says through gritted teeth.

“We could go back to Manaan,” Juhani’s saying. “There is a kolto healing facility in the Republic enclave.” Canderous, Mission, and the others are agreeing with her, their voices rising as they discuss. Téa listens, but keeps watching Carth, leaning against the holotable with his eyes closed and his head bowed. A piece of hair is flopping over onto his forehead, and the lines around his mouth are twisted in pain.

“Let’s stop off on Manaan,” Téa finally tells the group. “We can refuel and resupply before hitting Tatooine and Kashyyyk, and Carth and I can use the Republic’s kolto tanks.”

“On it,” Mission says, and she slips off down the corridor toward the cockpit. 

Carth whips his head up. “I said, I’m fine!” Carth yells. He levels a mean glare at Téa. “Why don’t you just do your _thing_ and patch me up enough to get going?”

“Are you serious?” Téa asks. Here’s the Carth she first met on Taris: bristling with anger to hide his own wounds. “My healing skills are no replacement for a kolto tank, Carth,” she says. 

“Oh, come on,” Carth gripes. “Can’t you just patch us both up enough to keep limping on to the next Star Map? I mean, aren’t you Revan, one of the most powerful Force users in the galaxy? And, and aren’t I just the pilot, just another tool to serve the Jedi Council’s agenda?”

“You’re badly hurt!” Téa exclaims, crossing the space and laying her hand over his, where he hasn’t stopped clutching at his side. She reaches out, not needing to probe too deeply with the Force before she finds a problem. “There’s at least four broken ribs here! Not to mention some nerve damage from when you lost consciousness, _and_ you’ve been favoring your left ankle. You need extensive healing.”

“I’m fine,” Carth argues. 

“No, you aren’t,” Téa insists.

“Yes, I am,” he says. “We should keep going on the mission.”

“Carth --”

“Why do you even care?” he asks angrily. “Why do you even care, Revan?”

“Stop it, you know I care,” Téa says, her frustration with him spilling over into her tone, the intensity of the fight with Malak and her exhaustion pushing her toward an extreme frankness. There’s no time to mince kriffing words, now. “I, Cotéa Rexa, care for you, Carth Onasi, and -- and, if I’m gonna keep going, I _need_ you.”

He lifts both eyebrows, exhaling as though she’d just punched him. 

“Carth, you _know_ how I feel,” Téa tries a little more gently, gripping his hand a little tighter, feeling a swell of emotion for him, emotion built up over months of having this man at her right hand, of growing so fond of him, so used to him. Months of his gentle, steadfast, careful affection, of a growing sweetness breaking through his bristly outer shell, of the security of his Force signature melding with hers in battle, of the familiarity of his hand in hers. Months thinking of some distant future, of wondering, if, maybe, after all of this --

He steps back, jerks his hand out from under hers, winces as his weight lands on his bad leg. He shakes his head at her. “It seems I don’t know anything,” he mutters.

Mission walks back into the hold, announcing, “Okay, course set for Manaan!”

Carth groans. “Why did I teach her how to co-pilot,” he grumbles.

“Hey,” Canderous interjects, pointing a finger at Carth. “That’s our girl, right there. She did a fantastic job piloting us out of the _Leviathan_. She learned quickly, Carth, and applied your lessons well. A true warrioress.” 

“Aww,” Mission grumbles, but Téa feels the swell of pride rolling off of Mission in the Force from the compliment.

“Thank you, Mission,” Juhani says; the rest of the group echos her.

“Yes, thank you, Mission,” Téa says, too, but she doesn’t look over at her, keeping her gaze fixed on Carth, on the layers and miles of pain showing on his face, in his posture, in his Force signature.

Juhani approaches them and lays one of her hands on each of their shoulders, breaking through the cloud of standoffish energy brewing between them. “Why don’t you two go sit down,” she says quietly. “Rev --” Téa winces before she can stop herself, at the name that is both hers and will never be hers, and Juhani pauses, squeezes her shoulder, nods. “ _Téa_ ,” she says, instead, “is right, Carth. Once the adrenaline wears off, you’ll need to be seen at an actual healing facility with a kolto tank.” Juhani looks at Téa. “You’re exhausted, don’t try to heal anyone now, not even yourself. I will do what I can to keep you both comfortable.” She pushes at them both gently. “Go, sit.”

Carth walks sullenly ahead of Téa and Juhani to the cockpit, checks over the gauges on the navicomputer and the course that Mission’s laid, grunts grudgingly at the autopilot, sinks into his chair with a wince and a groan. Téa lowers herself gingerly into the co-pilot’s seat. Carth stares straight ahead, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He doesn’t look at either Téa or Juhani as Juhani crouches between their two seats and lays her hands on Carth’s injured side, as the warm wash of healing Force energy fills the room. 

“Hmm,” Juhani muses. “I definitely think you’ll be glad to see the inside of a kolto tank once the adrenaline from the battle wears off, Carth.” 

Téa relaxes a little into her seat, warmed by Juhani’s energy. She turns her thoughts inward. The slight dulling of her body’s pain is allowing her to focus a little more closely on the pain radiating in her mind from her bond with Bastila. When they’d separated on the _Leviathan_ , the bond had narrowed down, going out of focus, feeling distant, almost like Bastila had intentionally pushed Téa away in her mind. But now, as Téa focuses, she feels the brightness of Bastila’s pain, and she winces.

Juhani startles, perceiving Téa’s distress. “What is it?” she asks gently, turning to her, laying a hand on Téa’s shoulder.

“It’s Bastila,” Téa says. She sighs, focuses a little more closely, feels the electricity almost as though it were on her own skin. “She’s in pain, they’re --” Téa leans her head against the back of the seat, clenches her jaw against the tightness swelling in her throat. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers. She feels Carth’s gaze flicker to her, and she shuts her eyes, unable, in this despairing moment, to bear his judgement on top of the impression of Bastila’s pain. “I should have --”

“Shh,” Juhani soothes. “Don’t. Not right now. You must rest, and heal, and then -- then we will search for her.” 

Téa sighs, collects herself, pulls away from the bond with Bastila, letting the pain in the bond fade into the background, a steady thrum in her mind. “I can’t believe I did -- all of this,” she says. She opens her eyes, glances over at Carth, but his face is turned resolutely back toward the instrument cluster in front of him, and there’s a resigned iciness over his Force signature, almost as though he’s trying to block her out just as much as she’s trying to block out Bastila.

Téa looks up at Juhani, feeling adrift in a sea of questions. “I just can’t believe I, I caused so much pain, so many deaths. How -- how did the Jedi manage to reprogram me this deeply? Reprogram my mind to not even believe that I -- Or, or, if this is me, _really_ me, not some programming, how --”

“Have you heard the stories about Revan?” Juhani asks. 

“I’ve heard some,” Téa says. “And I don’t like any of them. I don’t understand how --”

“No,” Juhani clarifies, “I mean, have you heard about how you _were_ \-- how Revan was, before. Before the fall. Before the war.”

“No,” Téa says. “I haven’t.”

Juhani smiles, rubs her hand over Téa’s shoulder, sends another warm wave of healing energy to her. “Well,” she starts. “This is what I have heard. A mediocre Jedi could never have become such a great Sith Lord, of course. Revan was -- you were -- truly exceptional.” Téa winces, but Juhani keeps talking, low and comforting. “Yes. I have heard that Revan was one of the greatest Jedi of her age, exceptional in her compassion for others, in her caring kindness for all beings. I have heard some say that Revan got involved in the Mandalorian Wars because of the true goodness of her heart, because of her compassion for others. Because she could not stand by and watch the galaxy suffer, so she acted -- not out of hatred, but out of love.” Juhani squeezes her shoulder. “And, to me,” she says, “that is who you are. That is how I have known you.” 

Téa sighs. “But -- but Revan _fell_ ,” she says. “Whatever her -- my -- motivations for getting involved in the war, how could I --” 

“War leads to great suffering, great pain,” Juhani says. “And who is to know exactly what happened between Revan, and Malak, and the Force? What I am saying is -- perhaps, whatever the Council did, they were able to take you back to how you were, before. To the core of your true self. A great, kind, caring, Jedi.” 

Téa sighs. “I sure as kriff don’t feel like a great Jedi right now,” she mumbles. “I don’t even know _who_ I am, much less what kind of Jedi I am.”

Juhani laughs, quick, clear, as she pushes a gentle suggestion of _sleep_ to Téa through the Force. “You should rest,” she says. “In time, you may find that you already know who you are.”

Téa lets her eyes close.

*

She wakes at the jostle of the ship landing in the docking bay on Manaan, and she winces. Her body hurts much more now than it did when she fell asleep, and Carth, radiating unshielded pain into the Force, looks far worse than she feels.

Téa quickly leaves Mission and Zaalbar in charge of the ship, while Juhani calls for Canderous to help her. The four of them set off on the slow journey from the _Ebon Hawk_ to the Republic enclave’s healing wing. Carth leans heavily on Canderous, barely able to support his own weight, while Juhani keeps her steady hand around Téa’s waist as they walk ahead of the guys down the corridors of Ahto City. 

“Easy, flyboy. Leg really hurts that much, huh?” Téa hears Canderous asking Carth, behind her. Carth’s response is no more than a pained grunt, but Canderous actually chuckles. “Yeah, it’s broken, then. Don’t worry, you’ll be good as new in a few hours. Every great warrior needs a dip in the kolto sometime.”

 _I’m so sorry_ , Téa thinks, for the thousandth time, but she can’t bring herself to turn and say anything to Carth. She just leans a little closer to Juhani as they walk, weariness overcoming her.

*

Hours later, Téa is using a towel to squeeze the lingering moisture out of her hair. The kolto tank treatment has left her body feeling revitalized, though her skin still felt a little raw when she put her robes back on. As she towels her long hair dry, she takes stock of herself, probing deeper, beyond her body. She still feels emotionally exhausted, and, thanks to her physical healing, the mental pain of her bond with Bastila feels sharper and more clear than it did earlier. _They’re torturing her_ , she thinks, and she sighs, squeezing her hair with the towel a little harder in frustration.

She sets the towel down on the bench next to the kolto tank she just spent the past hours floating in and picks up a hairbrush from the bench, working through the tangles in her hair, shifting her weight around from one foot to the other, gently stretching her legs while she brushes her hair. She’s thinking about the future, about what needs to be done: About saving Bastila, about reversing all the damage she, herself, did to the galaxy during her dark period as Darth Revan. Her mind is tired, but she feels a strange sense of clarity as she thinks about what Juhani said. She gets lost in her thoughts, feeling them untangle before her like the long strands of hair resting over her shoulder. 

“Wow, I’ve -- I’ve never seen your hair down like that,” Carth rasps dreamily, breaking through her contemplation, startling her a little.

She turns, looks at him. He’s gotten partially re-dressed, standing there next to his now-empty kolto tank in his pants and boots, in the middle of affixing his gun holsters back to his belt. His own towel hangs around his neck, obscuring part, but not all, of his still-bare chest, and Téa can see that he’ll be carrying scars from this experience, the unique spider-webbing of lightning marks faintly spread across his chest and arms, criss-crossing over other, older scars. She looks, and wishes she were looking under other circumstances.

“What?” she asks.

Carth blinks, sheepish, keeps fumbling with the buckle on his holster. “Uh, oh, I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Téa shrugs, and smiles at him. She can’t stop herself from smiling, the affection she holds for him swelling warmly around her. “What about my hair?” she asks.

Carth looks at her. “I --” He sighs, clicks the buckle into place, props his hands on his hips. “You don’t remember _anything_?” he asks, a bit more challenging, a bit more cold. “Don’t you even remember -- small things, like, like how you wore your hair? What you ate for breakfast on the morning you decided to become the harbinger of the Dark Side?” 

Téa feels her smile fall, feels the mood between them ice over once more. “Carth, I’ve told you what I know. No, I don’t remember things like that. The things I’ve done these past few months, since I woke up in that apartment on Taris, after the _Spire_ crashed -- those things are my clearest memories. Everything else, it’s just -- flashes.” She turns away from the set of his jaw, from the brusque way he’s throwing his towel down, shrugging into his shirt. She braids her hair and pins it up, like she always does, with her back turned to him. 

Moments of chilled silence pass. A medical droid floats into the room, assesses them, declares them both ready to be released, chides them to be more careful next time. “Oh, yeah,” Carth quips, “I’ll be more careful of the next Sith Lord I encounter, sure.”

They walk back from the Republic enclave to the _Hawk_ in silence, but Téa stops in front of the door to the docking bay. “Carth,” she says. He looks at her. She sighs. “I’m sorry.”

Carth looks at her, then looks down at his boots. “I know,” he mutters. “I just -- I just need some time.”

“I understand,” she says. It hurts. She meant what she said, back on the _Hawk_ , just yesterday -- and, stars, how has this whole thing taken such an awful turn in just 36 hours? _I need you_ , she thinks, presses to him, in her feelings, in the Force, and he glances back up at her, almost as though he heard. She draws a centering breath in through her nose, aching for the easy, comforting companionship that had been between them just a few days ago.

She tries for a smile. “And, you know what, I’ve probably always worn my hair up,” she adds. “I don’t think being aligned to one side of the Force or the other, or, or being Cotéa Revan or Cotéa Rexa, would have changed the fact that, you know, if I don’t put it up, it falls in my face and gets all tangled. And I can’t have that in battle, I mean, it’s just -- it’s not practical.”

“What -- okay,” Carth responds, shaking his head incredulously, looking almost like he wants to laugh, like he’s holding himself back. “Thanks for sharing,” he adds drily.

“I don’t think I need all the memories of my old life to know some things about myself,” Téa continues, trying to press her point upon him. “Maybe Juhani was right. Maybe -- maybe I do already know who I am, in a way. And -- and maybe you already know who I am, too.”

Carth eyes her thoughtfully. “Maybe,” he concedes. He huffs out another sigh as he turns to input the code to open the docking bay door. “I need time,” he says, with an air of finality, as he punches in the final number. The door slides open; he keeps walking on ahead of her, toward the _Hawk_. She watches him go, and wishes she were watching under other circumstances.

*

They take a couple more days on Manaan, refueling and resting and resupplying and getting some repairs done on the _Hawk_ for the damage they sustained during their escape. But it’s only a couple days, and then they’re off again, back on their original course, back to Tatooine, where, Téa had promised Canderous when they’d left Korriban, he could go confront Jagi.

“Feels like we’re going backwards,” Mission observes, over dinner, while the _Hawk_ hurtles through the hyperspace lanes toward Tatooine. Mission and Juhani have been spending extra time with Téa, sitting with her at every meal, Bastila’s empty place and Carth’s uncharacteristic coolness both painfully noticeable in the smallness of the ship. 

“What do you mean?” Juhani asks.

“Well,” Mission says. “I mean, we started on Taris, then went to Dantooine. Then we went to Tatooine, then Manaan, then Korriban. But now, we’ve gone back to Manaan, and now it’s back to Tatooine.” Mission shrugs around a mouthful of noodles. “Just feels like we’re going backwards.”

“Sometimes, one must move backward in order to move forward,” Juhani says, sounding so much like all the old Jedi Masters. Téa aches, again, for Dantooine, and for Bastila. For all the dead Jedi. For the galaxy. 

“I guess,” Mission says, unconvinced.

*

Téa’s not been pushing herself physically in the handful of days since their capture on the _Leviathan_ , but she knows she needs to start training again, to get her strength back up for the coming days. After securing the _Hawk_ in the docking bay, Canderous and HK venture out into Anchorhead, to stick their noses into the cantina and see if they can find any intel on Jagi. Téa asks Mission if she’d like to spar. 

With her sabers and Mission’s blades both turned to training mode, they start off slow, walking through some of the saber forms. Téa’s said before that if Mission were Force-sensitive, she’d be one of the top Jar’Kai practitioners out there, and she feels a sense of pride and satisfaction as Mission parries every attack perfectly.

Téa tries to stay focused on their training combat, on the feeling of her kolto-healed muscles moving under her skin, but a sense of moving meditation comes over her, and her mind strays. She’s been having more strange dreams, getting unsettling flashes of her old life, and, as Mission perfectly executes an attack, something deep in Téa’s mind flashes to Malak -- not Malak as he was days ago, on the _Leviathan_ , but Malak as she does and does not remember him, years ago, in the training salles. Her best friend. _I loved Malak then just as I love my own crew now,_ Téa suddenly knows, the revelation delaying her reactions, causing her to catch the end of Mission’s blade in the ribs.

“Oh, sorry!” Mission exclaims, stepping back. “Are you okay?”

Malak, her best friend, betrayed her, not just once, but over, and over again. She knows this, to the depths of her heart, to be true. Does it matter if she steered Malak down the dark path, or if he was the one to lead her, at first? Likely not. Likely the bond of friendship between them was deep enough to ensure their mutual destruction, once one of them turned toward the dark --

“Téa?” Mission’s asking.

Téa sighs, clears her mind, returns to the here and now. It does not matter. Malak is there, and she is here. She knows who she is, in this moment, in this place, the hot sun beating down on her, Mission frowning up at her.

“I’m fine,” she tells Mission. “That was a good attack. You caught me perfectly off-guard. Let’s continue.”

They resume their sparring, Téa setting thoughts of Malak aside for later, hyper-focusing on the moment, on blocking and attacking, on Mission’s clear, sweet laugh of victory as she scores another point against her. Their session winding down, Téa keenly feels the dampness of the sweat on her forehead as she reaches inside herself for a final reserve of strength. It feels good, to move like this, in the focused, familiar ways, her body healed, her blades in her hands.

Téa lunges; Mission blocks. Then: Téa’s mind explodes with pain. Sudden, splitting, piercing, consuming, _pain_. She falls to her knees in utter shock, drops her sabers, clutching at her sweaty forehead.

Bastila.

Téa can distantly hear Mission calling her name, can distantly feel her grabbing her shoulder and shaking her a little, but she can’t respond, can’t do anything.

Bastila, no, no, _Bastila_ \--

Mission’s footsteps fade away from her, thunder up the ramp of the ship. One small, far away part of Téa’s awareness hears her hollering for Carth. “Téa needs help,” Mission’s yelling.

That distant part of Téa’s brain hears an awful sound like a wounded animal, and realizes belatedly that it’s her, sobbing in shock and in despair, tears escaping from behind the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes to streak down her dusty, sweaty cheeks. She cannot do anything to stop it. All she can do is panic, drown, the all-consuming _pull_ of darkness suddenly so heavy in her mind.

“Hey,” she hears Carth say, from far away and yet so close to her, kneeling in front of her, his hands closing around both her wrists. “Hey, woah, it’s okay.” 

Maybe this is why she fell, before. In a moment of bizarre clarity that punches through her panic, she remembers: Remembers feeling this way, once, before; feeling the pain of Malak falling.

Remembers there being no one there to help her but Malak himself. Remembers Malak, falling, and catching her, and dragging her down with him.

“Téa, hey, it’s okay,” Carth’s quietly insisting, tightening his grip on her wrists. “It’s okay, I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

Memories of Malak recede, and Téa is left drowning in the pain, and the panic, in her bond with Bastila, the all-consuming feeling of _Bastila falling_ \-- and she feels Carth.

Carth, here, solid, steadfast, catching her, his knees grounded in the sand and his hands tight around her wrists.

“Carth,” Téa manages desperately, through her tears, through the rend in her mind. She feels him letting go of one of her wrists, reaching to grip her shoulder. She takes the strength he’s giving to her so sweetly and freely, uses it to press away from her Force bond with Bastila, struggling to cut off the feelings of despair and darkness in her mind.

“I’m here, it’s okay,” Carth tells her. “What’s going on, Téa? You’re scaring me.”

She tries to breathe, tries to regain control of herself. She doesn’t remember -- in her current, active lifetime, in the lifetime she’s been living these past few months -- _ever_ being driven to panic like this. She only remembers the phantom of going through this with Malak, which just makes everything feel worse. She tries to get control of herself, but it’s hard. It’s hard.

“It’s Bastila,” Téa manages, reaching up with the sleeve of her robe to scrub at her face. “Damn it, Carth,” she says, “she --” and she gasps as another wave of panic threatens to rush up over her again. 

“I’ve got you, okay,” he says. He uses his hand on her shoulder to pull her close, into him, lets her shelter her face against his body. With his hand still on her wrist, he pulls at her hand, guides her to press her open palm against his side, close to his heart, right over the ribs that fractured back on the _Leviathan_. Téa feels the faint impression of the kolto there still, continuing to knit the inner fibers of his bones back together to their full strength. “Just breathe for a minute,” Carth says. “I’ve got you.” 

Téa trusts, and breathes, following the smooth movement of air in and out of Carth’s healed lungs, the steadfast warmth in his Force signature, the affectionate, caring way he’s rubbing her back with one wide, open hand, and holding her own hand against his side in the other.

“Bastila -- she fell,” Téa tells him, at length. Whispers it into the skin under his ear, like maybe if no one else hears, it might not be true.

“What?” Carth asks, a spike of alarm coloring his Force signature.

“I felt it,” Téa says, muffled, into Carth’s body. “She serves the Dark side, now. She serves -- she serves _Malak_.”

“No,” Carth says. He pulls back a little, holding her out at arm’s length. He reaches with the gentle thumb of one hand to wipe the last of the stray tears from her cheeks. “No way,” he says. 

Téa closes her eyes, leans her cheek into his palm. “I felt it,” she whispers. “It was -- shocking. Awful. That’s why I’m so -- please, trust me. It’s true.”

“I do,” Carth says. “I do trust you. I just -- damn it, I wish it wasn’t,” he sighs. 

“I know,” Téa agrees, opening her eyes, holding his sincere gaze with her own. “I’m sorry, Carth,” she adds. “I know you need time to think about -- all of this. I --”

Carth’s hand slides to the back of her neck. “Hey, we’ll figure it out, okay?” he tells her. “I -- I’m still not quite ready to talk about -- about us. About what you, being Revan, means for -- for us. Now, I don’t know who -- who Revan is. But, _Téa_ , I know who you are. And I know who Bastila is, too. And, and I know, we’ll find Bastila. We’ll find the Star Forge. We’ll do what we have to do to stop Malak. And maybe -- maybe then we’ll have time to discuss -- everything else, everything that I -- that we feel.”

Téa looks at him, affection for him rising up and filling in the spaces around the shocked, shattered pieces of her heart. “You know there’s not much time,” she says. 

Carth nods. “Yeah,” he says. “But I know that you need me.” He leans in, presses his lips gently to her forehead. “And I know that I’m here.”

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! i decided to just play kotor to escape real life for awhile, and forgot about and was subsequently intensely reminded of this otp!! light side f!revanasi rainbows across the tatooine sky forever <3  
> Revan in my playthrough this time around, who i apparently (??) am now writing fic for (???? hello?) is named Cotéa Rexa but goes by Téa, has the republic scout to jedi sentinel background, will always use two sabers, pistols, blades, or what have you, adores Mission and the entire Hawk fam, andddd is very soft for Carth, which you know, so am i. so am i.


End file.
